by Vanessa Kier
If someone had suggested three days ago that he’d give up a perfect opportunity to die because of a woman he’d never met before, he would have said the person was crazy. Nothing was more important than protecting his family. But he couldn’t leave Kirra to a similar fate. And he would always treasure the time they’d spent together.
As long as word of his activities didn’t cause the blackmailer to lash out at Seth’s family, he’d make certain Kirra reached safety.
Finally, when the audience was practically falling forward in anticipation, Kirra leaned toward the microphone.
Kirra let the last notes of the song melt into the night sky, then waited in silence to allow the audience time to process the strong emotions. Should she finish with the song her heart demanded? Or play it safe and sing the song that officially ended this set?
While she debated with herself, she studied the crowd. Despite the threat from Sankoh, and the fear that the guard would shoot Seth, it was an unexpected honor to sing for this appreciative crowd. Looking at the rapt expressions on the faces turned toward her, she had another moment of bone-deep certainty such as she’d had the first time she held a guitar. Using her music to offer people a bit of escape, give them solace, or remind them of the sheer joy of life was the work she was meant to do.
Even when it meant performing under duress.
After Sankoh had ensured Kirra’s cooperation, Madame Florence had escorted Kirra to her sister’s house, accompanied by two of Sankoh’s guards carrying the backpacks. The guards had waited outside the bathing chamber—one by the door and the other at the window—while Kirra cleaned up and dressed in the outfit Madame Florence provided.
Kirra had protested that she had suitable clothing in her pack, but Madame Florence insisted that Kirra accept her gift. So she’d given in. The clothes fit remarkably well and she had to admit that the gold-plated jewelry made her feel glamorous.
On the walk through the darkened town to the festival, Kirra had done her best to memorize the street layout. The town had a few street lamps along the main road, but none inside the town. With one guard holding tightly to Kirra’s arm, Madame Florence had been tasked with carrying the lantern.
The darkness would prove a hazard when Kirra escaped, but she was good at hiding in unusual places. As long as she could find a place to hole up nearby, she trusted that Sankoh’s men wouldn’t find her.
Once she’d reached the waiting area behind the stage, Kirra had dropped into her pre-performance mindset. When it was her turn, she’d nearly laughed at the sight of Sankoh sitting on a throne at the back of the stage, smiling at the audience as if he were a generous patron instead of the man who’d ordered Seth beaten. But she knew her role and didn’t let any of her hatred show as she’d approached the microphone.
Her composure had briefly cracked when Sankoh directed her attention to Seth and his armed guard. Seth’s face was a bit more battered. If he’d suffered other damage, she couldn’t see it. Like her, he’d been given time to bathe and change into local clothing. The alertness in his body and the intense way he studied the area around him signaled that he was plotting an escape, the same as her. Relief that he was alive had eased some of Kirra’s tension and she’d thrown herself into her music.
Noticing that some people in the crowd had begun to shift their weight restlessly, she leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “If you have the patience for one more song,” she said, “I would like to play a new piece I’ve been working on.” Her heart gave a nervous lurch. She hadn’t been certain she would offer the song until the words came out of her mouth.
The audience drew in an appreciative breath, then murmured their approval.
“I should warn you that it is not polished as the others were,” Kirra said. Which wasn’t quite true. She never polished her songs to death. Only gave them a little shine and sparkle once they were on paper. Enough to crystalize the mood and the message of the music.
And with this song…Well, the way it had been tugging at her heartstrings, she didn’t think it would need polishing. This one, she suspected, was meant to be sung raw. But tonight would tell. If the audience responded as she hoped, then she would leave it as it stood.
Taking a deep breath, she found it impossible not to slide a glance over at Seth. Since Sankoh sat behind her, she didn’t expect to meet Seth’s gaze. Yet he met her eyes and smiled in encouragement. Her breath caught. The smile made Seth unbearably handsome. Softening his edges even through the cuts and bruises on his face.
She nodded in reply, then positioned her fingers over the strings. Nervous butterflies took flight in her belly and she dropped her eyes to the guitar so no one would see the emotion that this song evoked in her. Taking a few deep breaths, she centered herself.
“This song has no title yet,” she said softly. A lie. She called it “Seth’s Song.” But that wasn’t something she cared to share with the public. Not now. Possibly not ever. It would depend on what happened next between her and Seth.
Realizing that her fingers were trembling, she bit her lip then began the first few notes of the song. Because it was new—she’d begun composing it in her head the night Seth had taken her home—the music was at once both fresh in her mind and not so fixed that she could let her mind drift while singing. She felt her way through the song, letting the guitar carry the burden for the first several bars before allowing her voice to chime in. This was not a song to be performed in a stadium full of people. It had been written with one man in mind. One man who she didn’t have the courage to look at, no matter how desperately she wanted to see his reaction. She doubted he’d realize it was about him. She’d mixed the lyrics between English and Afrikaans, with the highly emotional pieces, the private pieces, in Afrikaans. Not because she associated that language with such tender emotions, but because, although she’d written the song to release emotions too strong to keep inside, she wasn’t yet ready to admit them to the rest of the world.
So she sang words of loss and longing, of fear and pain, and of the joy of unexpected second chances. Of two damaged souls searching for healing. She sang just loudly enough for the crowd to hear her if they remained quiet. A song of such fragile emotion needed a soft touch.
Even the night birds and insects stopped their singing so that the only competition to her voice was a soft wind that gave her face an encouraging caress. She closed her eyes as a deep sense of peace and calm settled over her. Then she sang the final line without accompaniment, letting the notes sail quietly into the night.
Silence hovered over the crowd. Kirra opened her eyes and saw people dabbing at their faces with handkerchiefs. Her heart swelled.
But she still couldn’t bring herself to look at Seth.
Then someone in the audience began to clap. The applause grew. People started cheering and stamping their feet. The drummers on stage with her started beating out a festive rhythm. Several dancers leapt onto the stage. Others raced up the stairs to join the growing group. Soon Kirra was caught up in a series of enthusiastic hugs and vigorous hand pumping. Someone removed the guitar from her grasp. Others grabbed her hands and pulled her into the circle of dance.
After a few minutes, she found herself in the middle of a tight cluster of people. They leapt and gyrated and moved as a unit toward the back stairs. Kirra glanced toward the throne. Sankoh was trapped behind a wall of dancers aggressively kicking and thrusting their arms in the air in the moves of a tribal dance.
Kirra’s group danced its way down the stairs. She expected trouble from the guards, but the space behind the stage was also packed with partying townspeople and Kirra didn’t spot any of Sankoh’s men. She tried to break free of the group, but two women hooked their arms through hers and bumped their hips against her. “All will be okay,” one of the women whispered. “Please follow our lead.”
Not knowing what else to do, Kirra let the dancers sweep her away. The group leapt and gyrated down the empty street and around a corner. Then the women pulled Kirra
toward an open door. The women shoved Kirra inside and the group on the street danced on past.
Kirra blinked her eyes and glanced around the lantern-lit room. Madame Florence stood in the center of the floor of a small food shop. Kirra’s carryall and the backpacks sat at her feet.
“Quick, change clothes so you will be harder to spot.” Madame Florence gestured toward a blanket hanging in the corner. Kirra moved behind it and found a set of olive green cargo pants, a long-sleeved, dark blue t-shirt, and a black headscarf. They weren’t her clothes, but she slipped them on anyway. A pair of dark blue takkies had also been provided, replacing her worn, dirty ones.
Pulling off the earrings as she moved, Kirra emerged from behind the curtain and handed the jewelry to Madame Florence. “Thank you for the change of clothing. How much do I—”
Madame Florence shook her head and placed the earrings on a nearby table. “You know better than to believe that payment is expected, child.”
“All right,” Kirra said reluctantly as she bent to remove the ankle bracelets. What did it say about her that she’d had no trouble stealing valuables, but felt so uncomfortable accepting charity?
“We must hurry before Sankoh and his men force their way through the crowd,” Madame Florence warned.
Kirra stuffed her carryall into her backpack and slipped the pack onto her back. To her surprise, Madame Florence shouldered Seth’s pack.
“Why are you helping me?” Kirra asked.
“I do not trust Sankoh.” Madame Florence went to the door on the opposite side from where they’d entered and peeked outside. “From the way he has kept you guarded it is clear that he wishes to keep you here. People who stay with him do not always come out whole.” She glanced back at Kirra and nodded toward her arms. “I saw your scars. You have already survived some great ordeal. I would be no kind of Christian if I let him hurt you.” She beckoned to Kirra. “This way.”
“Wait,” Kirra said. “There was a white man in the audience being guarded by Sankoh’s men. Last I saw they were in front of the the leather shop. He’s a friend.”
“Others are helping that one,” Madame Florence said. “We will see the two of you reunited, but there is not much time.”
Kirra took Madame Florence’s hand. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I don’t want you or your friends to be punished by Sankoh because you helped me.”
“Do not worry child, we shall handle all that comes.” She squeezed Kirra’s fingers, then pulled her hand free. “Now, we must leave.” She slipped outside and Kirra followed.
There was little light in town and Madame Florence didn’t use a torch. Kirra stuck close behind her guide so she wouldn’t fall in a ditch. Dancers, singers, and drummers kept the party going on nearby streets, but Madame Florence stuck to the dark, unoccupied places.
Kirra strained to separate the noises around her, expecting to hear shots. Instead, she heard the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground. She pulled Madame Florence to a stop and pointed over her shoulder at the faintly bobbing lights of torches heading toward them.
Madame Florence nodded. She led Kirra off the narrow street they’d been on, through a gate and into a small courtyard. Then she halted and indicated that they would wait until the men passed by.
Kirra eased over to the wooden gate and peered through the gap between the gate and the fence. Two guards holding powerful torches came into view. As they moved down the street they shone their lights into the most obvious hiding places. The light passed quickly over the gate. The closest man flicked a glance at their hiding place, but didn’t stop. A moment later, they disappeared down the street.
Kirra let out her breath. She nodded to let Madame Florence know that the immediate danger had passed. The woman led Kirra across the courtyard to an exit that opened onto a path running along a drainage ditch. The path was barely wide enough for one person to walk safely. Navigating it in the dark reminded Kirra of all the times she’d practiced her escape routes before a heist, trying out even the most seemingly impossible paths.
After two more stops to avoid patrols, Madame Florence halted before a small building with a cross on its roof. She knocked on the door using some sort of code, then repeated the knock. The door opened just enough to allow the two women inside.
A man in a pastor’s robes and two women in dressy local skirts and blouses motioned for Kirra to step toward a door at the back of the room.
“I will leave you here.” Madame Florence handed Seth’s pack to the pastor, then pressed a kiss to Kirra’s cheek. “God be with you, child. You are a talented singer. The world must not lose one such as you.”
Before Kirra could drum up a response, Madame Florence turned and slipped back out the door.
“This way,” the pastor said. He led Kirra to a small kitchen where a man sat in a wooden chair while another man examined the back of his head.
“Seth!” Kirra set her pack down and hurried over. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Seth didn’t move his head, but he swiveled his eyes in her direction. The relief she saw in his gaze reassured her on a primitive level. He held out his hand and she squeezed it. They remained joined like that while the man Kirra assumed was a doctor finished securing a gauze pad over the scratch on Seth’s neck. Then Seth stood up and gathered Kirra in his arms.
Home. His arms felt like home.
She squeezed him tightly, heard his exhale of pain, and stepped back in alarm. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Just bruised ribs. Nothing to be done about that.” He stroked her cheek. She thought he might kiss her, but he pulled back.
Swallowing her disappointment, she struggled to find something to say.
A man burst into the room. “Hurry. Bureh’s men are almost to town.”
The pastor hurried to the back door. After checking through the window, he opened it and motioned for Seth and Kirra to follow. “Quickly. Into the back.”
The man who’d given them the warning grabbed the backpacks and slipped past the pastor. When Kirra stepped outside the man motioned for her to climb into a compartment at the back of an old Range Rover. The space barely had room for Kirra, Seth, and the packs. Kirra was pressed so tightly against Seth that she could scarcely breathe.
The lid to the compartment slid shut, enclosing them in darkness.
Kirra’s heart rate kicked up. She tensed.
No! Not here. Not now. She wriggled until she could pull the guitar pick from her pocket.
“Shh,” Seth breathed against her ear. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
She leaned into him, clutching the pick. “I know.”
“This isn’t the same. You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
She heard people talking outside the vehicle. Then the vehicle dipped as several people piled into the compartment above them. They sang and joked and shouted good-naturedly at one another as if Sankoh’s men were no threat at all. When the vehicle started up and rolled forward, everyone cheered.
They kept up the raucous noise as the Range Rover bumped through town. After ten minutes, it rolled to a stop.
“Quiet!” a man ordered from outside the vehicle. “Everyone out. Stand with your hands raised while we search for the fugitives.”
Kirra clutched her guitar pick tighter and pressed her face against Seth’s neck.
The pastor said something, but she couldn’t make out his words.
The vehicle dipped and rose as men climbed through it. She had no trouble picturing them searching for hidden compartments under the seats. When the search moved into the cargo compartment above her, she tensed. Yet even though she heard a panel slide open nearby, it wasn’t the one to their hiding place.
Eventually the searchers gave the all-clear. The passengers climbed back into the vehicle, the engine started, and the vehicle rolled away. Within a few seconds, the passengers resumed their singing. Not long after that, the surface underneath the wheels changed from uneven dirt to smooth road.
Despite the uncomfortable position and the noise of the singers, Kirra fell into a light doze. Some time later, she was jolted back into full awareness as the vehicle slowed, then left the road with a bump that rattled her bones. After a few more turns, the vehicle came to a stop. Once again, the people above her exited the vehicle.
“We are here, my friends.” Kirra recognized the voice of the pastor.
Someone slid open the panel to the hiding place, letting in blessed fresh air. Seth was helped out of the compartment first, then an unfamiliar man reached his hand down for Kirra.
Once outside, she grabbed hold of the doorframe to steady herself while the blood returned to her legs and feet. As she waited, she studied her surroundings. They were parked among the trees edging a graveyard. A few people held lanterns as they formed a procession into the graveyard.
“This way,” the pastor said. He led them through the trees along the left side of the graveyard. A short time later, he stopped next to a white, slightly beat-up Toyota Land Cruiser that was parked behind a maintenance shed. The pastor handed a set of keys to Seth. “Take this with my blessing. You will find that both the overhead light and the taillights have already been disabled.”
Interesting. Kirra wondered what types of activities the pastor and his friends had been conducting under Sankoh’s nose.
“Thank you,” she and Seth said at the same time.
“It is our pleasure. Now go. Bureh’s rebels have joined the search. If you drive that way”—he waved in the direction the four-by-four was pointed—“you will reach the road that leads out of town. Turn right and within ten minutes you will reach a north-south road.”
Seth stowed his bag behind the driver’s seat. Kirra gave the pastor a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you and everyone else for helping us.”
When she stepped back, the pastor beamed at her. “You may repay us by reaching your concert and allowing the attendees to hear your remarkable music.”